Why I didn't want to find his love letters in my copy of East of Eden

Because I never fucking understood East of Eden. These beautiful educated people sit around and smoke and talk about East of Eden and Tropic of Cancer and every other damn thing I don't get and I don't have anything to say. I sit there and worry about my face and how I am sitting because if I can't contribute to the discussion I hope I at least look ok. Last night I dreamed my old lit professor called on me in class and I had a mildly insightful comment about whatever we were reading and he was impressed enough to end the class on that note. I woke up angry that he'd been so easily impressed.

Love letter, East of Eden. It was never really about me. I can read the words all day and it will be like how it is when I use chopsticks. Maybe I will manage to get a few bits into my mouth. But probably not.